


Heru

by FourthFloorWrites



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Secret Solenoid, Surfing, background Rodimus/Thunderclash, friendship!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourthFloorWrites/pseuds/FourthFloorWrites
Summary: Secret Solenoid gift for Lush_Specimen.Thunderclash is nervous about this whole surfing thing; luckily, Riptide’s got his back!
Relationships: Riptide & Thunderclash
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Secret Solenoid '19-'20





	Heru

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lush_Specimen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Lush! Thank you for an amazing prompt, this was really fun to write.
> 
> The title comes from te reo Māori meaning the rising/flowing of the tide. Ngaru is of the same language, meaning a wave.

“No, no, I’m being silly. What could go wrong?”

Riptide had a lot of answers for that, but by the way Thunderclash clutched the surfboard to his side and stared out at the mercury waves with his optics flickering in trepidation, he didn’t think he needed to voice any of them.

“You don’t _have_ to do this, you know,” he said, catching Thunderclash’s attention with the lightest touch on his shoulder. “If Rodimus really needs the company, he’ll just ask Drift. He invited you to Meteorfest because he thinks you _like_ surfing.”

“I do,” Thunderclash assured, not for the first time. “As least, I appreciate it. I’ve always enjoyed watching you and the others take to the waves when we’re on shore leave, and I’ve considered trying it myself. And I’m excited for the opportunity to spend time with him. It’s just being here now, it’s different. It’s…” His fingers reached out, grasping toward the wind pushing at them from over the mercury sea, before coming up empty. “Difficult to put into words.”

Riptide shrugged; he wasn’t altogether unfamiliar with the feeling.

“Think about it like this:” he said, “if Rodimus weren’t part of it, if it was just me and you and this empty beach, would you still be interested?”

Thunderclash was a good mech: he paused to think, giving the question the time it deserved, before nodding his helm with confidence.

“Yes,” he decided. “As I said, my admiration for the sport standing, I’ve always wanted an opportunity to join you, but frequently convinced myself that it would not be my place. If Rodimus’ invitation serves as impetus to finally act on a longstanding wish, then so much more the reason to pursue it.”

Riptide couldn’t help but grin, shark-toothed and excited.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “Let’s get out there, and if it’s too much, you’ll let me know. Sound good?”

Thunderclash nodded. His movements were still too stiff to be excited, but he’d said he wanted to do this, and Riptide needed to be able to trust him. He dropped his hand down into Thunderclash’s and guided him closer to the surf, round pebbles of quartz and shale crunching under their pedes. The tide rolled up to meet them, and Riptide paused so Thunderclash could get used to the feeling of the liquid metal, so unlike the _sentio metallico_ of their homeworld. As the wave settled, mercury beads danced over the uneven ground before slipping in between the smoothed pebbles, a few left behind to leave the beach sparkling like a fresh paintjob.

Thunderclash stared, watching everything shift and slide into place, until another wave touched down and started the process over again. When he looked up, the smile he bore was almost as bright as the sun reflecting off the sea.

“It’s nice, right?” Riptide said.

Thunderclash nodded eagerly.

“Very different atmosphere from the oil reservoir,” he said, earning him a laugh from Ritpide.

“Oh, mech, you have _no_ idea.”

“That you were even able to find such a place is a miracle,” Thunderclash went on, casting a glance up and down the pristine shoreline. “How is it that we could have such a marvelous spot to ourselves?”

“Mercury doesn’t agree so much with organic bodies, from what I hear,” Riptide, leaning down to scoop some into his open palm. It pearled and rolled in the cup of his hand, glistening unapologetically in the bright sun. “The inhabitants of this planet have built up some immunity, but they still keep their distance.” He let the beads trickle back down, where they plopped and integrated seamlessly with the rest of the wave.

“Lucky break for us,” he said, taking Thunderclash’s hand again. “Speaking of, we should get out there.”

“Right.”

The pair waded out together. When they reached the drop off, Riptide helped Thunderclash steady onto his board, then joined on his own. They paddled side by side and cut through the small swells making their way to the shore. Further out, Riptide had spotted a reef while sailing up the coast, the waves breaking over it perfect for a beginner like Thunderclash.

“Do you need any refreshers?” he asked as they approached. “Anything that didn’t make sense to you before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Thunderclash said. “You’ve been an excellent teacher, after all.”

Riptide grinned at his friend. Not a lot of mecha had said that about him in his life, but coming from Thunderclash, he knew it was sincere.

They reached the waiting point and Riptide raised one hand, stilling Thunderclash’s paddling. In front of them, a wave swelled and broke, the mercury rolling over itself as it carried onward toward the shore. Riptide was able to sit still and watch it move by, but a loud itch in his processor refused to allow him to pass up another one. He inched forward. Checking over his shoulder to see if it was okay, he caught Thunderclash’s thumbs-up, which was all the assurance he needed.

“A demonstration!” he framed it before paddling a little further forward, kicking out, and diving with his board beneath the surface.

With optical sensors at full sensitivity and biolights dialed up to max brightness, Riptide was able to see the way the tide of mercury curled around him, currents pulling and pushing at each other, a liquid language telling the story of this world in real time. Mecha like Brainstorm found all sort of ways to complicate the tides, piling on math and complex jargon that distanced them from the source. Riptide didn’t understand the point of it all: if they stopped and just paid attention, they would realize that the waves were already telling them everything they wanted to know.

He allowed his enchantment to last a moment longer before the same section of his processor as before demanded he get a move on. He let his board pull him back up, bursting through the surface just as another wave was forming behind him.

“Sweet, perfect timing!”

From behind a way, he heard Thunderclash cheering him on as he started paddling, strong strokes that propelled him through the mercury, somehow matching up with the strength of the whole great ocean. Like he always did, Riptide took a moment to marvel at the improbable synchronicity, at his root mode’s achievement of a feat that seemed like it should only be possible with his alt mode engine, before the awe cleared and he thrust himself up. Front foot landed in place right before his back foot found purchase, body leaning into the momentum of the wave as it picked him up and dragged him forward; he was flying.

The waves here weren’t powerful enough for Riptide’s usual caliber of surfing, but that was okay. So long as he was on his board, channeling the power of the tide into his own forward momentum, he was happy, and he surfed down that little wave until it had carried him nearly the whole way back to shore.

He hopped off his board and spun around: Thunderclash, left far behind, had of course been watching the whole thing, and he waved as soon as their optics met. Riptide waved back, matching the wide smile he saw on his friend.

“Hang on, Thunders!” he called. He wasn’t sure if his voice would carry over the shoreward wind, mild though it was, so he made a show of depositing his board on the beach before charging back into the surf. He sprung upward, folding in on himself midair and splashing back down as a boat, rotor already whirling as he drove back to Thunderclash’s side.

“Phenomenal, my friend,” Thunderclash called. They weren’t quite in speaking distance yet, but it seemed like he’d been too excited to hold it in a moment longer. “I’ve always admired your skill on the water—er, well, you understand my meaning—but watching from so close is an entirely different experience.”

“And that doesn’t even come close to trying it yourself,” Riptide said as he came alongside Thunderclash, his motor humming happily under the praise. “Feeling ready?”

Thunderclash nodded, but the easy smile he’d worn while watching Riptide slipped a bit.

“And if I fall…?”

“We’re try again,” Riptide promised. “As many times as you want.”

Thunderclash was still nodding. He didn’t look reassured. Riptide edged closer, cautious that his bow didn’t collide with the beginner’s board.

“Something else?” he asked.

“I’m aware this might seem entirely silly of me,” Thunderclash said, “but what if it eludes me entirely?”

“What, surfing?” If Riptide’s face had been showing, he would have raised a brow; since that wasn’t an option, he tilted one of his side mirrors in what he hoped was a close approximation.

“Precisely,” Thunderclash said, optics focused on Riptide and clearly concerned. “You went through all the trouble of teaching me, finding this place, bringing me here. What if I don’t get it and it all turns out to be a waste?”

Riptide’s spark ached in empathy. He focused on his engine to create a calming purr, small ripples filling the space between the two mecha.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said simply. “Sure, it’d be a shame if you couldn’t make it to Meteorfest, but Rodimus would find some other ridiculous thing for you to do together in no time.”

“But you—”

“Will have gotten to spend time with my good buddy Thunderclash,” Riptide finished for him. “No time’s wasted if that’s what I’m doing with it.”

Thunderclash stared a moment more before he ducked his head, though not so far that it hid his pleased smile.

“And anyway, we’re definitely not giving up before you’ve even tried!” Riptide said. “Meteorfest’s not for a while, so as long as you’re doing your best, there’s no rush to get it right away.” He happened to glance over at the reef and his engine gave a rev of excitement. “Except for right now: that one’s perfect!”

Thunderclash followed Riptide’s gaze, caught sight of the incoming wave, and scrambled to catch it. He didn’t have time to build the momentum, though, and was only able to pull himself to the back of the wave before relenting and letting it roll on without him. Riptide was prepared to mend and reassure, but Thunderclash’s strokes as he paddled back were powerful, his confidence actually restored by the near catch.

“My bad,” Riptide admitted anyway as Thunderclash lined himself up again. “I should’ve given you more time to prepare.”

“All experience is good,” Thunderclash rebuffed. Despite a tendency to speak in what, from any other mech, could have been empty platitudes, Riptide knew his friend meant it. “Maybe that particular scenario won’t translate exactly to meteor surfing, but I’m grateful to have it nonetheless.” He seemed to have taken Riptide’s reassurances to spark, and he settled back on his board with the ease of someone who, while perhaps not used to the motion, was at least prepared to face any potential outcome.

“Good,” Riptide decided. “Let’s keep trying.”

This time, Thunderclash started paddling while the wave was still forming, and he had a decent momentum built up by the time the swell reached him. He hesitated a moment, like he hadn’t expected to manage it, then popped himself up, going through the motions he and Riptide had practiced on the smooth surface of the oil reservoir.

Riptide let out a cry of excitement.

“Yeah, Thunderclash!”

The newly minted surfer whipped his helm around, optics sparkling like the rippling sea beneath him. Then, his arms started to pinwheel. Riptide’s vents stalled. Thunderclash valiantly tried to save his balance, but the board seemed possessed of its own spark and jerked beneath him, tumbling its rider off with a big, silvery splash.

Riptide winced and piloted himself over, transforming to catch the board before it and Thunderclash could be pulled all the way to shore. Thunderclash reappeared a moment later, shaking mercury droplets from his helm.

“Much better,” Riptide said as he passed the board over. Thunderclash took it gratefully and hung on it while his fans belted fines plumes of metallic mist from his vents. “Do you know why you lost your balance?”

“I let my hips come out from under my center of gravity; my equilibrium destabilized,” Thunderclash answered.

Riptide blinked at him.

“Well, okay, yeah,” he said. “But do you know _why_ that happened?”

“I do not,” Thunderclash admitted.

“Your optics,” Riptide said, pointing. “You took them away from where you wanted to go. Your body wanted to follow, and whoop, _sploosh_ ,” he mimicked the motion with his hand, slapping his palm against the surface of the mercury, “down you went.” He paused, hand hovering over the water. “I think I distracted you. Would it help if I didn’t cheer?”

Thunderclash immediately shook his head, granting Riptide a wave of relief. He liked being supportive, and while he would have been able to hold back if that was what Thunderclash needed, it would have been hard.

“I like the encouragement,” Thunderclash said. “It helps me remind myself that I’m doing something right; it can be challenging to remember, when everything feels so new and uncertain.”

Riptide nodded. _That_ he understood and could work around.

“Okay, then how’s this: for the next one, I’ll pull out in front of you and the wave. That way, you’ll be able to follow me and keep your eyes forward.” Thunderclash might have been the one learning how to surf, but Riptide was learning how to _teach_ surfing, and the process demanded collaboration. He was just grateful to have someone like Thunderclash as his first student, who was willing to communicate his needs without shame.

Thunderclash agreed, so Riptide transformed and pulled ahead, beyond the shoulder of the coming waves, while Thunderclash readied himself to start paddling again. When the swell started to form, he was ready to meet it, propelling himself forward to match with the force of the water.

“Good job, Thunderclash, looking good!” Riptide called, sounding his horn a couple times for emphasis. He couldn’t pull far forward for fear of disturbing the little wave with his wake, but he soon found this was alright.

No hesitation: as soon as Thunderclash knew he’d caught the wave, he popped up, knees bent and center of gravity low. Eyes pointed forward, focus tight, Riptide could see the way he leaned his trust into the water, letting it carry him forward with his board as the mediator between them. His shoulder joints were stiff and nervous tension characterized the entirety of his frame, but those were things that could be mended with time spent on the sea. The important thing was that Thunderclash was _surfing_ , and Riptide cheered him on all the way to the shore.

He caught up right as Thunderclash was dismounting, landing back in the mercury tide with a _plop_ that sent small ripples out around him. He had a hand still on his board, the way one would wrap an arm around the shoulder of a treasured friend, and he was beaming.

“That was radical, Thunders!” Riptide cheered as he pulled in and switched to root mode. Wading in the surf wasn’t quite as easy as piloting through it as a boat, but if he needed to be able to express his full enthusiasm. “How did it feel?”

“Stunning,” Thunderclash said. “Indescribable, I… how _do_ you put something like that into words?” He kept glancing between Riptide and the waves he’d just emerged from, as though his processor was still out there, not quite ready to be walking around yet.

Riptide offered a contented shrug.

“That’s kind of the nice thing about having someone to surf with: you don’t need to.” He grinned. “Want to go again?”

Thunderclash’s optics focused on him, sparkling.

“Can we?”

Riptide laughed and transformed again, guiding Thunderclash back out to their spot.

* * *

“Riptide! Incoming personal comm from the Ngaru cluster.”

“Thanks, Blaster,” Riptide said, eagerly hopping onto the communications hub and uploading his credentials. He’d been looking forward to this message even before Thunderclash and Rodimus’ shuttle had departed the docking bay, when the latter had promised to send a postcomm as soon as he was able. Riptide knew they would be busy, so he’d done his best to be patient, but he couldn’t bother to tamp down on his excitement as he selected the message from the top of his inbox.

The screen filled with a black sky swirling with stars and bursts of galaxies, edged along the bottom with the curve of a planet. Riptide supposed a minishuttle had been hooked up with a video camera and then sent up into the upper layers of the atmosphere. It was a pretty picture on its own, but then Riptide leaned closer as things started moving.

Minute orange lights streaked across the face of the sky, flaring briefly, blinking out of sight, short lived but so numerous the view was never without motion. The meteors started falling closer, and Riptide was able to see their riders, a wider variety of species than he had ever seen in one place before: Cybertronians, of course, but also Povians, organic Ilxians, and many more he didn’t immediately recognize.

Just before Riptide could become completely mesmerized by the array of excited faces and flashes of color, the view filled and paused on an image that made his spark warm: Thunderclash and Rodimus, riding meteors side by side. Their gazes had drifted toward each other, and the joy they clearly felt was contagious, even from so far away.

A message, in a familiar teal type, scrawled across the bottom of the screen:

_All my gratitude, my friend._

Riptide smiled and downloaded the video to his own database. He’d been thinking about Meteorfest ever since his friends had taken off, and this could be just the thing to get the rest of the Lost Light surfers on the idea.


End file.
